


The Gentle Art of Persuasion

by EllenOfOz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Aromantic Meg Masters, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Lord Dean Winchester, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Skippable Smut, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural), Threesome - F/M/M, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, also contains destiel twosome scene, brief Dean/others, threesome can be skipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz
Summary: Lord Dean Winchester is a young rake, yawning his way through sessions of parliament by day and partying with the ton by night. He has welcomed many fine nobleman’s daughters into his bed, some at the same time.But one evening, everything changes. His childhood friend, Castiel Shurley, has returned from Paris with his fiancée, Miss Masters, in tow. Shurley is cold, aloof, and not interested in rekindling whatever friendship he might have once had with Dean.Dean does not want to let his old friendship lapse. He’s determined to discover what has changed in his friend since he’s been away, and make amends. And a chance discovery in a laundry room may give him an opportunity to do just that.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Meg Masters, Castiel/Meg Masters/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 54
Kudos: 158
Collections: SPN Regency Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my fic for the SPN Regency Big Bang! A very big thank you to all the other authors and artists taking part in this first run of the SPNRBB, and especially the other mods, thatperculiarone and nickelkeep. I've had a blast being part of it.
> 
> Thanks must go to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses), [TrenchcoatBaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby) and Lorelei2005 for their beta help <3
> 
> And finally, my artist, [Sissyray](https://twitter.com/thestarkeeper21) has created some truly gorgeous pieces for this story. Check them out in chapters 1, 3 and 4! 
> 
> **A note about smut:** This story does contain a threesome between Dean, Cas and Meg. It happens at the end of chapter three, and can be skipped without losing anything important to the plot. There is also a scene between Dean and Cas in chapter four. I hope this encourages some with doubts to give it a go :)

“One, two, and spin, clap...yes, that’s it, Mrs. Plum, very good!” Lady MacLeod called as the dancers moved along the line under her careful instruction.

Dean held his partner’s hand lightly as they skipped along, trying hard to hold in the yawn that was threatening to burst forth. How he’d ended up roped into this set was beyond him, but he was nothing if not attentive when it came to pursuing his goals, and the young Lady Antonia Bevel was certainly worth pursuing. Even if it meant suffering through this infernal new dance Lady MacLeod had learned at Almack’s and insisted on sharing with the crowd here. 

Lady Antonia smiled at Dean as their gloved hands pressed together, gazing at him through her lashes. He let his hand linger at her hip as they passed each other, enjoying the way her breath hitched slightly, her lips parted as they came back to face each other. He bit his own lower lip, their eyes locked as they stepped close, then away once more. 

Oh yes, he was going to enjoy fucking her against a wall in some hallway, later.

Not too much later, all being well. There was only so much of this tiresome dance he was willing to entertain.

The music came to an end, and the dancers all smiled at each other, their polite applause replacing the three-piece orchestra. 

Dean led Lady Antonia away from the dance floor, his pumps scuffing the chalked floor as they navigated through the crowd towards the drinks. 

“My thanks, Lord Winchester,” Lady Antonia said over the murmur of the crowd. “I’m not sure I could stand another set with Lady MacLeod at the helm.”

Dean laughed lightly. He’d only just been introduced to Lady Antonia in the last week, but he had a feeling they understood each other better than most of his other acquaintances. 

At the age of twenty-five, Dean found no particular wish to settle down. He enjoyed himself far too much during London’s social season, even if it meant he had to yawn his way through sessions of Parliament now and then. Truthfully, he cared not for talk of the war on the continent, of what Wellington might be up to, or the sordid affairs of Lady Caroline of Brunswick (as if that was any business of the cabinet, anyway). 

Besides, his brother, Sam, had settled down with a wife and a young son of his own, so even if Dean died without issue, one of them could take up the family mantle. Call him selfish, and many did, but as long as he had a pipe in his hand and a warm body between his legs, he was happy. 

At least, that’s what he told anyone who asked. 

And tonight, he had the perfect company to help him pursue that happiness. All he needed was for the rest of the party to be distracted for long enough for Lady Antonia and himself to make good their escape.

A commotion near the doors was their perfect chance to do so. Dean grasped Lady Antonia’s hand, sending her a wink as he led her towards the back of the room, intent on slipping out the back entrance of the ball room, but a voice raised above the others stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Castiel Shurley! Is that you? My, you’ve grown so tall!” Lady MacLeod’s voice carried over the crowd’s hubbub. 

Dean turned to look back, shock clutching at his chest. Castiel…? The newcomer had a dark head standing taller than those around him, and a nervous look on his face. Even from across the room and in lamplight, Dean wouldn’t mistake those blue eyes. 

A tug on his wrist pulled him out of his staring. “Come, my Lord!” Lady Antonia insisted, her voice hushed. “Now, while they are distracted!”

Dean turned to her, wondering if his face was as flushed as he felt. “Yes, of course.” 

But as he turned back to look across the room, his eyes met Castiel’s. Lady MacLeod was pointing in Dean’s direction, obviously pointing him out to Castiel. Lady Antonia made a tiny squeak of a sound as Dean realized he was holding her hand so tightly that he was likely crushing it, and he dropped it quickly, biting out an apology.

“We cannot leave now, we are seen,” she said quietly, clearly annoyed. She placed her hand in the crook of Dean’s elbow instead. “Let us walk about the room instead, and try again later.”

Dean nodded, his head still in a spin from the reappearance of his childhood friend. How long had it been since Cas had left? Five years? Longer? 

“Who are these new arrivals, to hold the room in such a thrall?” Lady Antonia asked him as they walked forward.

“The gentleman is Castiel Shurley, son of Lord Charles Shurley. He’s been away for some time, studying in Paris, I believe.” Of course he knew exactly where Castiel had been all this time. His letters had been few and far between in the last few years, but he’d also received infrequent updates from Castiel’s brother, Gabriel. 

Dean eyed his friend as they drew closer. The years had done him well, growing him into a broad-shouldered, well-built frame that he carried with a dignified sort of nonchalance. He looked just as beautiful as Dean had always remembered him. 

“And the lady? His wife?” Lady Antonia murmured.

Dean’s eyes dropped to the shorter woman standing next to Castiel. Her round, pretty face was framed by dark curls as she smiled up at him, her hands on his arm just as Lady Bevell’s were on his own. A cool dread pooled in his stomach as he took in their posture, the stiff way Cas held himself while the lady hung off his arm.

“The lady I do not know,” he said, trying to keep his manner light, but his heart beat double-time as they drew closer to the group.

Castiel’s eyes lifted again from where he’d been conversing with Lady MacLeod, his clear blue eyes widening as he saw Dean approach. No matter how blue Dean had remembered Castiel’s eyes, the reality was breathtakingly brighter. 

Lady MacLeod turned, seeing Dean and Lady Antonia standing there. “Dean! Look who has returned! You remember Castiel Shurley, Lord Shurley’s youngest son?”

Dean smiled at Castiel, reaching out his hand for the other man to shake. “Of course. Welcome home, my lord. Have you only just returned?”

Castiel’s gaze softened in something like relief as he took Dean’s hand, although a smile barely touched his lips. Had he been worried that Dean wouldn’t remember him? “Hello, Dean.” His voice! When he’d left it had been low enough, but now it was a bass rumble, gruff and warm. Dean tried to pay attention to his words as Castiel continued, “Thank you. We arrived yesterday. It was a long journey but we’re glad to be home.” He turned to his companion, still without a smile. “May I present Miss Margaret Masters? We are engaged to be married this spring.” 

Dean couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped, and he closed it again quickly before he looked to Miss Masters, ducking his head in a bow. He gathered his wits, saying, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, and...congratulations to you both.”

Miss Masters curtseyed gracefully, saying, “Thank you, my lord.”

A squeeze at his arm reminded Dean of Lady Antonia’s presence next to him, and he internally cursed himself at being so distracted that he’d forgotten his manners. 

“Castiel, Miss Masters, may I introduce Lady Antonia Bevell?” As they exchanged pleasantries, Dean let his eyes rove over his old friend once more. He had not received a letter from Cas in almost a whole year, perhaps longer. Was this Miss Masters the reason Cas hadn’t time for correspondence? 

Lady Antonia did not pause, letting go of Dean’s arm to grasp that of Miss Masters, instead. “Come, Miss Masters. It has been a long while since I visited Paris!” The two women wandered off to a vacant settee close to the fireplace. 

Lady MacLeod excused herself and stepped away also, joining another party of guests nearby. 

Dean cleared his throat slightly as he forced himself to step closer to Castiel. How long had it been? They’d both been seventeen when Castiel had left, and though he remembered it like it was yesterday, Dean realized with a start that eight years had passed. 

“So, engaged to be married? You never mentioned Miss Masters in your letters, Cas,” Dean said, smirking at his friend over his glass in an attempt to hide his nerves. 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “My apologies, Dean. I met Miss Masters while studying at _la Sorbonne_ , then we were posted to the same school. The engagement was only arranged in the last few months, once we decided to return to England.”

Dean nodded, taking in Cas’ stiff bearing, his reluctance to look at Dean. Could he still be holding onto some old grievance, even now? “No matter, I have been introduced now. I am happy for you.” 

Now Cas’ eyes flicked to Dean, some flash of emotion there, before he glanced away again. “Thank you. How is Sam?”

Dean grinned, happy to progress to a topic he could speak on for hours. “He’s very well, thank you! Tall as a beanstalk, happily married and with a young son, in fact. He’s not here tonight, but no doubt you will see each other soon enough, now you are back.” 

Cas nodded, his face still grim, closed. “I am glad to hear it.”

“Cas,” Dean asked, unable to help himself, “has something happened?”

Cas stared at him, blankly. “I beg pardon, what do you mean?”

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, is all.” Dean tried a smile to ease his words, but Castiel merely looked away again, his mouth set in a firm line. 

“Perhaps I have,” Castiel said, and without bothering to explain further, he added, with a glance across the room to where Miss Masters was now deep in conversation with Lady Antonia. “You did not mention your new affections in a letter, either.”

Dean followed Cas’ gaze and chuckled. “Oh no, we only, uh...keep company now and then. If you get my drift.” 

Cas’ reaction was not as Dean had expected. As boys, if Dean had mentioned kissing a girl behind the school building, or at one of the garden parties they had been made to attend over their adolescence, he would have sighed, cast his eyes heavenward, perhaps. Now, he drew himself up, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. The firm frown on his face was as closed-off as though he had slammed a door in Dean’s face. 

“Indeed?” His voice was cold, strained. “Even so, I should not keep you from the gathering. Please give my regards to your brother. Good evening.” 

“Cas, wait a moment—” Dean said, bewildered, but it was too late—Cas had already bent in a stiff bow and headed back across the room to where Miss Masters sat. She stood up at his approach, and he bent down to murmur in her ear.

Dean turned away, unwilling to be caught staring at the couple. A sick kind of dread pooled in his stomach as he moved towards the nearest footman serving claret, sure his face must be flushed. 

What had he said? A lot had changed in each of their lives in the last eight years—for his part, Dean’s father’s death and his inheritance of his title, for starters. Castiel had only included a minimum of news in his letters, and the only conclusion Dean could draw was that the man had developed a much stronger sense of propriety in France that he ever had growing up. 

A memory rose in Dean’s mind, one that he’d been trying not to recall as one of the last times Dean had spent time with Cas. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and the memory had returned to haunt him over the years with a lingering guilt. 

Dean sipped at his wine as he remembered that day, sprawled on the grass by the river...

  


* * *

**_Eight years ago_ **

_The party had been dismal, and the weather so warm, that Dean and Cas had stolen away with a dish of small tarts and an old horse blanket from the stable. They laid it down on the meadow near the river’s edge, as far away and out of sight of the house as they dared. Hopefully no one would miss them and come looking._

_Dean munched happily on a tart as he lay on his back, watching the clouds meander across the summer sky, his head pillowed on the linen cravat his father had insisted he wear. This was what summer afternoons were supposed to be like, his best friend by his side, away from the noisy hubbub of society and their parents’ obsessive scheming. He shouldn’t get too used to it—soon enough they’d be sent back to school._

_“I wonder what it might be like to kiss someone.”_

_Dean shaded his face with his hand as he blinked over at his friend in surprise. “I don’t wonder, Cas, I know. I kissed Cassandra behind the stable just last week.”_

_Cas was also lying on the blanket on his back, his blue, blue eyes reflecting the sky like crystal shards, after he stopped rolling them in fond exasperation. “Yes, I know your unsavoury habits. But I do not go around kissing girls behind the stables. I should like to know.”_

_Dean admired the way the sunlight shone on Cas’ face, the way his long fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat to let it open in the warm afternoon breeze. The idea of Cas kissing anyone was a tantalizing thought, one that he’d only considered a very few times in the quietest part of the night, and quickly shied away from._

_“Very well, then,” he blustered, “who has taken your eye? Miss Rosen, perhaps? You do spend a deal of time with her.” Rebecca Rosen was a nobleman’s daughter Castiel’s mother was trying to pair him up with, and forced them on afternoon walks as often as could be managed during pleasant weather._

_Castiel laughed, reaching over to land a punch on Dean’s shoulder. “No, of course not! How could you suggest it?”_

_“Well, who, then? I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea—the only other person you’ve spent time with this summer is me.”_

_Cas was quiet, until Dean looked over at him, suddenly nervous about what the silence could mean. Butterflies quivered in his stomach. He’d known Cas for so long that he couldn’t imagine his life without him, but he’d always dismissed speculation that Cas might feel anything but the fraternal, platonic friendship they’d always shared, despite what Dean might wish. The idea shocked him to his core, but kindled a fire within his chest. Should he...could he dare?_

_“You want to kiss me, Cas?” Dean murmured._

_Castiel stared, wide-eyed, as Dean gazed over at him. Dean got up on his elbow, reaching one hand over to Cas, running his fingertips over his friend’s smooth cheek, down his jaw. He leaned in, giving Cas the chance to back away if he needed to, but Cas merely closed his eyes, his lashes resting on his cheeks as Dean closed the distance between them and brushed their lips together._

_Castiel made a sound, similar to the sound he’d made when he ate the blackberry tarts earlier, and it sent a bolt of arousal right through Dean. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, running his hand across Cas’ jaw and around to tangle in the hair at the back of his head. Cas leaned into him, his own hand moving to run down Dean’s side._

_When Dean eventually pulled back for breath, he was surprised to find Castiel’s eyes were wet. “Cas? What is it?” He lifted a hand to wipe the tears from one side of Castiel’s face where they had run down his temple into his hair._

_Castiel let out a choked sob, and gripped Dean around his back, pulling him down so he could bury his face in the space between Dean’s shoulder and neck._

_Dean gripped his shoulder and held him close, not sure what to do. After a few moments, he asked, “Did I do something wrong?”_

_Cas choked again, sounding this time almost like a laugh. “No, no. That’s the problem, in fact.” He pulled back from Dean then, sitting up and pulling a kerchief from his coat pocket to wipe at his face. “I hoped that I would hate it, that I would stop wanting to...but it was perfect. I’m sorry, Dean.” He clambered to his feet, buttoning his waistcoat and grabbing his tailcoat._

_Dean sat up, his head spinning. “Wait, Cas, I don’t understand…”_

_But Castiel was already heading away from him, across the meadow towards the house. “I must go. I shall see you at church tomorrow.”_

_“But—”_

_“I’m sorry, Dean.”_

* * *

  


**_Present_ **

They’d never spoken of that afternoon again, and just a few weeks later, Castiel had told Dean of his upcoming departure—his father had agreed to fund his study in Paris.

Dean had been heartbroken at his friend’s departure—his actions had obviously made Castiel uncomfortable, and he hated that he might have hurt him. Not only that, but their kiss by the river had woken something within him. He didn’t want to lose Castiel, not now that he suspected what he’d felt for his friend all this time had not only been the bond shared by best friends. 

Dean wasn’t the only one to suffer after Cas’ sudden departure. Sam, an impressionable boy of fourteen at the time, had idolised his brother’s best friend, and had also been heartbroken.

But Castiel left, and Dean’s heart hardened. His confusion at how much he’d enjoyed their tryst had led him to the beds of many others, men as well as women, but nowhere had he found that particular fire that he’d felt when he’d kissed his best friend. 

Cas had written to him a few times over the years and the letters had been cordial enough, telling of his experiences in Paris, learning to converse more fluently in French, not going into much detail about any of it, but still pleasant letters. Dean had responded in kind, taking Cas’ lead and not mentioning romance of any kind. He’d thought their friendship salvaged to a degree, even as he still yearned for the ease of their school days. 

But now Cas had returned, and seemed cold as ice, not to mention engaged to be married. What was Dean to make of it? Nothing, he supposed. Cas was lost to him, and he’d best get over it, as much as he might long for it to be otherwise. 

But oh, setting eyes on his friend once again made his heart yearn, the pain centered in his chest as he watched Castiel draw Miss Masters away to speak with Lady MacLeod once more. Dean was unaware of Lady Antonia joining him by the window until she surreptitiously stroked her gloved hand down his arm. 

“What’s on your mind, m’lord?” she murmured to him. “Has Lord Shurley done you some wrong?”

“Oh no,” he replied with a surprised chuckle, tearing his eyes from Castiel and Miss Masters leaving the party. “We were close, once. I suppose time changes a man, is all.” 

“Come, let us see if we can sneak away again?” The lady’s eyes were sparkling with mischief, but Dean found himself reluctant to follow her lead tonight. 

He downed the last of his wine, then bowed to Lady Antonia. “My apologies, my lady, I find I’m not feeling the best. I shall see you at the assembly rooms on Friday.”

“But we’ll hardly get the chance to be alone _there_ ,” she protested, flushed and frowning.

“I am sorry,” Dean insisted. “Goodnight, Lady Antonia.” 

He said his goodnights quietly to Lady MacLeod, and headed for home, his mind in turmoil.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean saw Castiel several times over the next few weeks, at various social engagements. Indeed, it seemed difficult to avoid him or his vivacious fiancée as they flitted from event to event. Miss Masters was always to be seen charming the womenfolk, with Castiel standing nearby, brooding and unapproachable. 

The few times Dean spoke with her were short-lived, although she seemed pleasant enough—Dean supposed he could see why Castiel was taken with her. Her bright eyes and rosebud lips often seemed to Dean to hold a sort of smirk about them, like she knew something that he was not privy to. He tried to dismiss such thoughts as uncharitable, but he couldn’t help that they made him uneasy. 

Dean was as polite as he could manage, but his heart ached for the loss of his friend. After their first conversation, Castiel seemed to be adept at avoiding him in company, and Dean wasn’t sure if it would be welcome for him to pay a visit during the daylight hours. So he remained miserable from a distance, even as he told himself he needed to let their old friendship go. 

It didn’t help that his new, grown-up beauty haunted Dean day and night. He thought of Cas’ broad shoulders and strong thighs as he bathed in the evenings, stroking his cock and imagining Cas’ large hand in place of his own. 

It shamed him, but he couldn’t seem to help the longing that took hold of him. He needed distraction, badly.

A card party at Bloomsbury Square a few weeks later sent him back into the orbit of Miss Eliza Braeden, the eldest daughter of a northern Earl who seemed very keen for his daughter to become acquainted with the Lord Winchester. Eliza was pleasant enough, Dean thought, but canny enough to know that Dean wasn’t in the market for a wife. Still, that didn’t stop him from spending a good while discussing the state of the war effort with her, followed by persuading her into slipping away with him into a deserted back corridor on the pretense of escorting her to take the night air. 

Eliza’s back hit the wall of the hallway with an indelicate thump as Dean leaned down to kiss a gentle line up her neck and along her jawline. She gasped, lifting one knee to press against the side of his, and he cursed the fact that she was wearing such a long skirt that getting under it was going to be difficult.

He pulled back slightly, taking in the flush on her cheeks, and the way her dark curls framed her face. The thought struck him that perhaps he should slow down with the loose women, and settle down with someone like Eliza. She was very pleasant, sharp of wit—and he felt he could most likely come to love her, in time. 

“What is it, sir?” Eliza asked in a hushed voice as she gazed up at him.

Oh yes, and the twinkle in her eye as she called him “sir”. He didn’t mind that. 

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss her with a fervor that he had perhaps held back from her until now. They had barely begun, their mouths moving together, Dean’s hand carefully cupping the back of her head so as not to disturb her carefully pinned hair, when someone cleared their throat in the corridor behind them.

Eliza jerked away from Dean, gasping as she looked over his shoulder, then threw her hands over her mouth and hurried away, back towards the party. Dean gritted his teeth and turned around, but nearly gasped himself when he saw Castiel standing there, shuffling his feet, his hands clenched at his sides.

Dean inclined his head politely, quickly trying to straighten his coat and cravat. What on Earth was Cas doing back here? “Castiel,” he said, attempting composure.

Castiel was frowning, his eyes following the retreating form of Miss Eliza, but when Dean spoke Cas’ gaze snapped back to him. “I am sorry for interrupting. I was just looking for...and then I heard voices, and…” He trailed off, looking away and schooling his surprise into a look of aloof detachment.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, unwilling to avoid the issue any longer. “Something on your mind, Shurley? Do you take issue with me dallying with Miss Braeden?”

Castiel shook his head, his gaze skittering away from Dean. “No, I—” he began, but trailed off, his cheeks pink under the dim lamplight.

Dean huffed. “I do not think what I do behind closed doors is any of your business.” It may once have been—indeed, he’d bored Cas to sleep on several occasions as he waxed lyrical about his pursuit of ladies in their younger days. But no longer.

A series of emotions flashed across Cas’ face—hurt, anger perhaps—before he once again dropped his mask into place. A sneer still escaped into his words, though: “No, of course it is not. My apologies. Please excuse me.”

He gave another curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing back the way he had come.

Dean stared after him, only now aware of the rapid-fire beating of his heart. What on Earth had just happened? At least now he knew where he stood with Castiel—the man clearly now hated him for his womanizing ways. Well, let him hate. Dean was a free man—he could do as he pleased. 

He moved to rejoin the party, a tightness in his throat making him head straight for the liquor.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when Castiel and Miss Masters took their leave from the gathering, that Dean was able to breathe freely again. As they left the room, Cas himself looked tired, almost miserable. Dean stepped forward to wish them a goodnight, but Miss Masters turned, catching Dean’s eye. She frowned, glaring at Dean with a deep disappointment. He stopped, watching Castiel leave without a backwards glance. 

How had he gone so wrong, to lose a friend so completely? The idea that Cas now thought so lowly of him that he’d outright avoid him at gatherings, then to show such offence when actually speaking with him, made his chest ache with a wish to make things right, but he had no idea where to even begin. 

Deeply unsettled, he walked back the way both Eliza and Castiel had gone, finding his way back to the party by the noisy crowd.

When he walked back into the room, Miss Eliza was looking over to him from her seat. She flushed prettily as Dean made his way back over to join her, and he smiled. If he could put Castiel out of his mind, perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.

  


* * *

  


An invitation sat on the tray, the creme paper and curled text innocuous enough. Dean picked it up, reading that he and Sam were invited to attend a ball at Lord Shurley’s residence at Mayfair. The ball was to be held to welcome home his son, Castiel, and to celebrate his engagement. 

Dean frowned at the invitation in consternation. Surely Castiel or Miss Masters had not requested his presence—neither of them had said a word to him since the night of the party at Bloomsbury Square a week ago.

It must have been Lord Shurley who had invited them. Castiel’s father did not always sit in the House of Lords every session due to his delicate health, but when he did he always treated Dean well. In fact, after Dean’s father had died, Charles Shurley had been one of the first to take the fledgling Lord under his wing, showing him the ropes, as it were. He must have been the one to insist Dean and Sam be added for appearance’s sake. 

There would be no excuses for missing this one. At Dean’s club that night, the gentlemen were all atwitter about who would be attending, and complained about how their wives and daughters were buying up all the lace in town so they’d be the most gaudy bird present. Despite Dean’s reluctance to attend, the ton would be out in force, and he’d be a fool to miss this opportunity to make a connection or two.

As the day of the ball drew closer, even Sam started to talk incessantly about it, driving Dean to utter distraction. He’d been out to dinner at the house of Castiel’s brother, Gabriel Shurley, the previous evening, where apparently the ball had been almost the only topic of conversation. Over breakfast the following morning, Sam spoke to Dean while he was trying to read the morning papers. “Gabriel does have the most skilled cook, did you know? He had a sugar centerpiece shaped like an _entire peacock_!”

“Did he indeed?” Dean murmured in reply, trying to concentrate on the letter to the editor he was reading, but Sam continued.

“Do you know who else was there, though?”

Dean kept his eyes on the paper, speaking with some irritation now. “Not a clue.” He was somewhat put out by the fact that he had not been invited to the dinner as well. While it was true that Sam was closer with the elder Novak brother than Dean was, he did enjoy the man’s legendary dinners on occasions when he had been invited.

“Castiel and Miss Masters.”

Dean’s heart flopped over, but he carefully tried to keep his face impassive. “Is that so?” 

“Yes, indeed,” Sam continued, speaking in between bites of his breakfast. “Castiel is looking well since his return, wouldn’t you say?” At Dean’s non-committal hum (during which his heart was beating like a drum), he added, “Although last night he was rather glum. Barely spoke all evening.”

That was hardly news—Cas had been reserved at every event Dean had seen him at in the last few weeks, although once or twice he'd seen Cas speaking animatedly with others, which had filled him with such envy that he'd had to step away. 

Sam went on, "I spoke with Miss Masters for a time. Did you know that they have both accepted positions at a school at Chelsea? They will be moving into a house there after they are married.”

_Perfect_ , Dean thought, his heart sinking further at the news Castiel would be staying in London. He would have to keep avoiding him. 

Sam continued, “Castiel did not seem overly excited about his new position, though. I asked Miss Masters if all was well with him, and she said he was merely missing the continent. Apparently he gets like this from time to time—in fact, she'd pulled him from a similar episode a few years ago after another attachment of his had 'ended badly'—her words."

Dean frowned to himself. That didn't sound right—the letters he'd received from Cas had not mentioned any other attachments, and there had been no indication he’d been unhappy. 

“Not only that,” Sam continued, some incredulity to his voice now, “but she then went on about how happy they were together, that it was difficult to find a perfect match in this world, that it was like finding a mythical creature. She called him her ‘unicorn’!”

Dean lowered the newspaper as he gave Sam a flat look. "Why are you telling me this, Sam?" 

Sam looked affronted as he picked up his tea cup. "Why so defensive? I felt worried for him, is all. Perhaps you could pay him a visit, see if something is troubling him about his return to London. You were once so close. He will be pleased to see you again."

Dean let out an indelicate snort. “That is not the impression I've formed.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, and when Dean glanced at him, he was giving him a dubious raise of the eyebrow. “And how did you form such an impression?”

Dean let the newspaper fall to the table. “He avoids speaking to me. Then he turned up his nose when he caught me with Miss Braeden.”

Sam frowned, a sadness around his eyes evident before Dean turned back to his paper, the disappointment tight in his own chest. It was bad enough Cas returning and ignoring him, let alone having to endure pity from his brother as well. 

Sam sipped at his tea, then put the cup down with a clink, while Dean tried furiously to focus on the print in front of him. “I’m sorry. I know how upset you were when he left. The Cas we knew before surely would not have become so prudish while abroad, though. There must be some misunderstanding.”

“No, Sam.” Dean didn’t look at his brother, not wanting to allow hope to infiltrate the walls he’d tried to construct around his pain. Sam did not know Castiel as well as Dean had, and could never know how much Dean regretted damaging their friendship. He took a breath as he stared unseeing at the paper, hardening his resolve. “If he wants to be like that, let him.” 

Sam replaced his teacup on the breakfast tray, leaning over towards Dean until Dean had no choice but to raise his eyes to Sam’s concerned gaze. “If you would rather stay home tonight, we do not have to go to Lord Shurley’s ball.”

The tightness around Dean’s chest didn’t disappear, but it relaxed somewhat at the thought that his brother was on his side, no matter how dire things became. “Thanks, Sam. But we should show our faces. Besides, I promised Eliza the first two dances,” he added with a smirk, making Sam roll his eyes as he stood up. 

Dean stared at his brother’s retreating back as Sam continued out of the room, towards the sound of little Jack playing in the drawing room.

Doubt warred with hope in his mind. That day by the river, the day they kissed…Dean had often found himself regretting kissing Castiel that day, and ruining their friendship. Could the entire thing have been a misunderstanding? 

Or was Castiel merely now disappointed in Dean’s hedonistic life? He’d certainly expressed his displeasure on at least one occasion. Dean found himself reluctant to accept that explanation, though.

He missed Cas fiercely, even after all these years. Even more now that he could see snatches of his old friend when he interacted with others. Even, and he knew he was damned for even thinking this, but even now, Cas held space in Dean's heart that would never be replaced with another. 

He needed to know, even if the answers weren’t ones he wanted to hear. But did he have the courage to ask Cas tonight, even if he could get him alone?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Spoiler warning **
> 
> The Dean/Cas/Meg threesome is at the end of this chapter. If you'd rather not read it, you can skip to chapter 4 once Dean goes to find Cas, without losing any of the story. Dean/Cas smuts in chapter 4 :)

Sam, Eileen, and Dean arrived fashionably late to Shurley House, as usual. Dean hadn’t visited the house since Castiel had gone abroad—with all of the Shurley children having found marriages and employment outside of London, and Lord Shurley and his wife being less inclined to social functions as they got older, there had not been the occasion for sizable events at the house. This was to be their first in years, and the whole beau monde was buzzing with excitement. I

It was odd, being here again after so long. Dean had spent time here as a boy, since his own family home was nearby. When he and Castiel had been home from school they’d been nearly inseparable, running through the foyer and halls and driving the servants mad. That foyer was now full of people and lit with gas lamps, casting a glow brighter than candles down on the brightly-colored attire of the guests. 

Sam and Eileen preceded Dean further into the house, as Dean cast his eyes across the room, taking in the groups of people clustered around. The ballroom of Shurley House was large and well-appointed, with an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, sparkling in the lamplight. A large space in the center of the room was chalked for dancing, but for now the orchestra played quiet, pleasant music, barely audible over the murmuring.

Dean turned back to Sam, only to see him heading away towards Lord Shurley and his wife, Lady Naomi, who were standing to one side to greet new arrivals. Dean followed, bowing formally to Lord Shurley as he approached. “My lord. Glorious evening tonight, is it not?”

“Indeed, Winchester, welcome,” Charles Shurley said, grinning at Dean like they still stood in Parliament. He leaned in, speaking quietly, “It is rather warm in here, though. Please do come in, find a refreshment before you attempt dancing.”

“I will do, thank you,” Dean replied, bowing before Lady Naomi as he followed Sam along the line, but as his brother moved on, Dean found himself face to face with Castiel. 

Cas rocked onto his back foot, his eyes wide as he took Dean in. 

Dean couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, despite the man’s reaction. Castiel looked impeccable, his dark hair curled at the temple, a blue waistcoat under his silk cravat bringing out his brilliant eyes. Dean gathered his wits and asked, “Castiel, how d’you do?”

Castiel appeared to swallow heavily before he spoke. “Lord Winchester. I am...well, thank you.” He paused, looking down before dragging his eyes up to meet Dean’s again. Somewhat hoarsely, he added, “You’re in good health, I trust?”

Dean’s smile dropped as he watched Castiel’s reaction with some confusion. He seemed surprised to see him here, almost flustered by his presence. Had he been expecting him not to accept the invitation? "Yes, thank you, I am," he finally replied, attempting to remain pleasant even as his heart sank again. He turned to Miss Masters, bowing to her in turn. 

“Good evening, m’lord,” she murmured, her gaze flicking from Dean to her fiancé with some consternation. 

When Dean’s gaze followed to Castiel, he found him gazing back with a frown. The expression cut him to his core, making him look away again immediately. He muttered to Miss Masters, “Please excuse me,” before stepping away and making a beeline for the punch.

A few fortifying glasses later, Dean was in a more agreeable frame of mind. If Castiel didn’t want him here, he would not overstay his welcome, but he needed to at least dance a few sets to keep up appearances. The assembly had grown, the air in the ballroom now becoming close despite open windows—Dean adjusted his waistcoat to try to ease the damp feeling against his back. 

He’d held conversations with a few friends around the room already, and passed a few pleasant words with a few of the ladies present, but until the dancing started there was little he could do but wait and attempt to be sociable. 

Someone hailed him from nearby, and when he turned he was pleased to see it was Arthur Ketch, a wealthy businessman with whom Dean occasionally kept company. “How do you do, Winchester? Blasted hot night, eh?” he said, wiping at his brow with a kerchief.

“It is, sir. All being well the summer will turn to rain and wind soon enough, no fear.” 

Dean grinned, then was surprised at Ketch’s exclamation, “Castiel! Come here, lad.” He pulled Castiel in from where he stood a few steps behind Dean. “Are you acquainted with Lord Winchester, here? One of our youngest lords, but arguably the best company, eh, Dean?” Ketch said with an exaggerated wink. 

Dean chuckled nervously, taking in Cas’ own tense bearing. He looked almost unwell. “Do not trouble yourself for an introduction, Ketch. Shurley and I knew each other as boys.” He gave Castiel an encouraging grin once again, but Cas merely turned to Ketch, nodding.

“Dean and I were at school together, yes,” he said quietly, without expression. 

“Ah! In that case, I shall leave you two to get reacquainted. Please excuse me.” And without waiting for Dean to ask him a stalling question, Ketch headed away from them and vanished into the crowd.

Dean stood in place next to Castiel, a vague feeling of apprehension washing over him. Now was his chance to find out if what Sam suspected was true, that they had misunderstood each other. But the words dried on his tongue, and he washed them down with a mouthful of punch. Castiel seemed to be tongue-tied also, shifting his feet and clutching a glass of claret in his hand with a stricken look on his face. He turned suddenly, saying, “Please excuse me,” but Dean caught him by his elbow before he could escape. 

The action was most unseemly, but Dean couldn’t let him go without speaking his mind. “Cas, wait, please,” he began, then had to stop and catch his breath when Castiel turned, his obviously pained gaze suddenly so close to Dean’s face. “I’m sorry, but I…” His words trailed off, his worries suddenly seeming stupid. But Sam had been right—if he didn’t ask directly, he would never know for sure.

He took a shaky breath, mentally chastising himself for being so spineless. “Have I said something to offend you?” At Cas’ raised eyebrow, Dean hurried on. “I wondered, merely because we used to be such firm friends, and now you can hardly stand to look at me. When you left all those years ago, I...wondered, and I may be on the wrong path here—”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, but firm, and it brought Dean out of his rambling and his eyes up to meet his friend’s in an instant. Castiel looked worried, his brows drawn and his frame tense.

“The river,” Dean said, bracing himself for disappointment. “That day at the river, when we…” Someone bumped into his side, murmured an apology, and Dean turned back to Cas, unwilling to continue when there were so many people around them.

Castiel was looking down at the glass in his hand, a firm set to his mouth. He looked pale as he muttered, “No, of course not…”

“Of course not,” Dean repeated, finding himself filled with a strange mixture of relief and burning disappointment. “My apologies. That meant nothing. Pray, tell me the matter, then?”

Cas continued to frown, his shoulders rigid and face now white as a sheet as he looked up at Dean, his voice hard. “Forgive me, Dean, if I find myself moved on in life from those days—they are long behind us after all. That doesn’t seem such an issue for you, however.” His words were clipped, clearly holding himself in check.

Dean was taken aback for a moment. “You take offense at the way I live my life, Cas?”

Through clenched teeth, Cas growled, “I do, when it is clear that you have not moved forward one inch over the last eight years.”

“Moved forward?” Dean repeated, hardly able to believe Cas’ words. “Where have I to move forward to? I have all I need in fortune, a vocation, women at my beck and call—I enjoy life. What more is there?” He spread his hands, expecting Cas to elaborate on what moving forward may actually entail, but instead, a look of disappointment, of sadness, crossed his face. 

“Please excuse me. I must see to my fiancée.” Castiel turned abruptly and hurried off before Dean could say anything further. He watched as Castiel wove his way across the room to Meg and stooped to kiss her offered hand. He murmured something to her, then after shock crossed her face, she turned to pin Dean with a look of pure venom.

Dean looked away quickly, taken aback. What had Cas meant, that Dean had not moved forward? He was a lord now, with his own estate, as well as a house in the city. He paid his respects to the crown and the elite of London society almost every night, damn it! What exactly had Castiel expected him to do in all this time?

He flexed his right hand, realizing he’d been clenching it so tightly that his fingernails had cut crescent divots into the soft skin of his palm. Abruptly stifled in the crowd, he found he was done with this night. He turned, trying to locate Sam’s mop above the carefully coiffed crowd, all waving feathers and many-hued turbans. There—the bean pole was currently dancing, spinning his wife around the chalked floor like they were courting youths again. The joy on Eileen’s face as she faced Sam and gripped his hand caused something to clench in Dean’s chest—the two of them looked so peaceful, so wrapped up in each other that he had to turn away, unwilling to disturb them now. Gritting his teeth, he almost ran right into Gabriel Shurley. 

He stumbled, and Dean reached out to grip him by the shoulders to prevent him from falling. “Gabriel! Are you well?” He looked down into the shorter man’s face, wondering if he could shed any light on Castiel’s behavior. They’d played together as children, of course—Gabriel was only two years older than Castiel, and the two younger boys and Sam had looked up to Gabriel’s mischievous ways with a sort of horrified awe. He wasn’t the Shurley heir—that title belonged to their eldest brother, Michael, but Gabriel was a respected business owner, patron of several fine-food related businesses about town.

Except at the moment, he was flushed and wild-eyed, obviously a little too far into the punch. “Dean!” he said, peering up at him and adding hastily, “Oops, I mean, Lord Winchester.” 

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Please, when have you ever stood on formality with me?”

Gabriel chuckled, a curious tilt to his head that reminded Dean so much of Castiel that his chest clenched once again. “Absholutely right,” he slurred, “But tell me, m’lord, what on Earth did you say to my dear brother just now?”

Dean glanced around in surprise. Castiel had left, although Meg still sat in place, sharing her seat with other resting dancers. He turned back to Gabriel, now concerned that they’d been too obvious in their disagreement. He tried to deflect, “Nothing. Why do you ask? Is he well?”

“Maybe, maybe,” Gabriel replied, swaying a little in place. Dean gripped his elbow and guided him over to stand under an open window, hoping the fresher air might revive him. “He seemed put out.” 

Dean frowned, “He seems to have been mostly put out with me all evening. Since he got back from Paris, if I’m honest,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.

Gabriel shoved Dean in the arm. “Oh, Deano, no. He’s not cross with you. Well, perhaps he is, a little…” he trailed off, his eyes wandering across the room. 

“Gabriel, please focus,” Dean pleaded with him. “What is the matter?”

Gabriel turned back to Dean, swaying a little in place. “He has not been the same since he left, heartbroken, all those years ago. I heard all about it—you see...he missed home terribly. His letters have been less anguished since he met Miss Masters, though. He has always felt too deeply, my brother." Gabriel smiled wryly, his eyes sad. 

Dean could do nothing but stare at Gabriel, the words striking him and ringing in his mind like a bell. How could they be talking about the same person? Castiel’s letters had been nothing but polite, and his presentation unfriendly since he’d returned. 

But, heartbroken? He recalls his own words of just a few minutes ago and inhales sharply at the clench in his gut. 

_"Of course not. That meant nothing…"_

The look on Castiel's face, the betrayal, the sadness. Had it...had it meant something to Castiel after all? 

Cas had Miss Masters now, though. There was no chance he was still carrying some kind of feelings for Dean, was there? 

He drained the last of his punch, making an effort to pull together his scattered thoughts. 

“Please excuse me,” he muttered to Gabriel, leaving him behind as he stepped away, suddenly determined.

Had he been the one to break Cas’ heart, at the river? He hoped he was reading Gabriel's insinuations correctly, because it would be dreadfully embarrassing to have got this wrong, but the more he sat with the revelation, the more an idea crept up on him. He had always loved Castiel. As a friend first, a brother, even. And then, something more. 

And so, perhaps, had Castiel.

He deposited his empty glass on a nearby table and hurried across the ballroom between the milling groups. He thought he heard Sam call out to him, but he didn’t stop, leaving the room through the large doors leading out into the foyer area near the wide steps leading to the house's upper levels.

Dean shook his head slightly to try to loosen some of the alcoholic haze fogging his mind, as he approached a footman standing by the foot of the stairs. “Lord Shurley, man. Did he come this way just now?” He looked up towards the considerably dimmer third floor, but nothing stirred on the balcony there. 

“No, sir,” the footman replied, his expression apologetic. “He remains in the ballroom—”

"He does not." Dean didn’t wait to argue, merely turning to stride back into the ballroom, wishing he had seen which direction Cas had left in. He headed into the large drawing room off to the side of the ballroom—the tall doors had been thrown wide to allow guests to sit in here in relative quiet, although at present it was crowded. Neither Miss Masters nor Cas were here, and although Ketch called out to him from the card table, Dean excused himself, pointing to the door at the other side of the room. Through that door and across a hall, a small antechamber held large urns for the male guests to relieve themselves in. Dean pitied the servant who was tasked with emptying them—the smell reached the hallway, mixing unpleasantly with the burning frankincense meant to disguise it. 

The chamber pots were not his destination, though.

The remainder of the house was quiet and mostly empty—most of the servants would likely be having their own party in the kitchens, if Lord Shurley’s house was anything like other large houses in town. He found an expansive library on his left, the large room dark and cold. The dining room on the other side of the hall was likewise dark, only the dim outline of a table to indicate its purpose. He was sure Cas couldn’t have gotten far—it had only been a few minutes since he’d left the ballroom, but the further Dean got down the hallway, he was sure he’d taken a wrong turn on his way back to the front entrance of the house, from where he took his bearings. 

He stopped, considering. When they were boys, playing hide and go seek, Castiel had shown Dean all of the best hiding places around this house. Dean knew that if Cas had retired upstairs to his rooms he would be unable to follow, but the fact that he hadn’t done so made Dean wonder if he was merely taking a little time to compose himself before returning to the ball. Propriety demanded that he, as the guest of honor, dance and make merry until the end, and Dean felt sure Castiel would want to behave appropriately. 

Finding himself near to the kitchens after all, Dean heard the sound of laughter and saw warm light spilling from around the corner. Sure enough, the rooms were bright and loud with carousing servants and kitchen staff. He continued on down the hall, hoping he had not been seen in the doorway, trying to remember which rooms were further in this direction. Servants quarters, perhaps? 

A smell of lye soap and damp filtered through to Dean, and he recalled another pleasant afternoon spent, just him and Castiel, hiding in the laundry room with a pile of pastries Castiel had liberated from the kitchen. He smiled at the memory, stepping into the room on quiet feet, reminiscing. He shook his head to himself. Those days were long gone, but their memory lingered on, like a pleasant taste on his tongue.

The laundry was dim, with linen shirts, corsets and stockings hung from drying racks strung from the ceiling. Dean knew the warmth from the heated tubs would dry clothes faster than any other method save being hung up in the sun, but days like those were far between at this time of year. 

A sound caught his attention at the back of the room. Could there be a rat in here? The scuffling came again, and a whispering. Not a rat then—a person was certainly in here—more than one person. He could hear breathing, and some kind of wet noise, as though someone were...kissing. 

As he rounded one of the large tubs, he halted and ducked back behind it quickly, trying not to make a sound. There _were_ two people kissing in here, although he couldn’t make out who it was in the dim light from one candle, flickering in a draught. 

Well, well, what a find! Dean really should not linger here. He should leave them to it, whoever it was, go back to his search for Castiel back in the ballroom. Or perhaps just give up and make his way home.

He was just about to turn and leave again as quietly as he could, when he heard it. A gasp. A groan. He stopped in his tracks. 

It couldn’t be. Could it?

He turned back to the laundry tub, trying to catch a glimpse of the lovers across the room without giving himself away.

A snatch of whispered conversation, “Just forget about him, Castiel. He does not deserve such devotion when it is entirely unrequited!” 

“I cannot help the way that I feel, Meg.” 

A sigh went along with the quietly spoken words. Yes, that was certainly him. Dean was stunned, unsure what to make of this. Castiel was obviously upset—had Dean’s words been the cause?

“Stop. Do not think on it any longer. Let me help you take your mind away…” Meg murmured, continuing to kiss Cas in a way that sent shivers of something unpleasant up Dean’s back. _He_ wanted that. Wanted to taste Cas in just that way. 

He could barely see them where they both stood against the far wall, but from what he could tell, Meg was pulling Cas’ much taller frame down to her face to kiss her. Dean clearly heard her words, in a commanding tone: “Help me unlace this.”

Meg spun around, and Cas brought his hands to the back of her gown to begin to unlace it. 

Dean should have backed away, should have fled the room. Instead, his traitorous body couldn’t help the small gasp that left him.

The couple stopped their embrace, Meg whirling around and Cas’ head snapping up as Dean ducked back behind the tub and closed his eyes, his shoulder tightly pressed against the wood.

“Who is there?” Meg asked, quietly but firmly. Dean dared not move.

“We heard you,” she continued, her voice getting closer. 

There was no getting out of this gracefully. Dean swallowed heavily, then stood up. 

Both Meg and Cas gasped at the sight of him, and Dean nearly did the same in return at seeing them both clearly for the first time as well, in the dim light of a lantern on a shelf nearby. Meg’s hair was still in place, but the drawstrings at the neckline of her dress were loosened, so that rather a lot more decolletage than appropriate was visible beneath the hand clutching at it. 

But Castiel… He was a sight to behold.

His hair was in disarray, the previously aligned curls now sticking out from his head, his cheeks flushed like a maid’s above his bare throat. His tailcoat lay draped over the edge of one of the tubs, and his untucked shirt hung around the edges of his waistcoat. Dean devoured the look, aware that he was staring inappropriately, but uncaring.

“Lord Winchester,” Meg breathed. Castiel merely stared, his eyes wide with alarm. 

Dean nodded, not sure if social niceties still applied when one came upon one’s peers engaged in...this. He tried, anyway. “My apologies. I heard a noise and came to investigate.”

“And you were in this part of the house, because…?” Meg asked, stalking closer to him, her neckline perilously low.

Dean gulped again, finding his mouth dry. “I was, uh...looking for Castiel, actually.” 

Meg’s eyebrows rose as she tilted her head. “Were you, now?”

“But it can wait, it’s not important. I will find you again another time,” Dean hurried to say, turning to leave, but Meg stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. 

“Wait, just a moment. You can tell him now. Or, perhaps, you could…join us?” Meg’s smile was coy, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked up at him.

Dean could only stare, his feet rooted in place. Did she really mean for him to stay and…? The possibilities crowded for position in the front of his mind, while he practically felt his blood rushing southward.

Dean continued watching Castiel as Meg prowled closer, reaching out to grip both sides of the front of his tailcoat as she pressed herself up against him. He glanced down, distracted by the swell of her breasts revealed by the loosened gown, then captured by her upturned face, the smirk, one raised eyebrow in a curious echo of the way he knew Cas did the same.

Meg’s eyes did not leave his as she asked, barely above a whisper, “What do you think, Castiel? Should we show him a good evening?”

Castiel gave a bitter little laugh, and Dean’s eyes rose again to see him shake his head. “I assure you, Dean is capable of finding his own good evening.” 

“But I’ve a feeling there’s something here that’s caught his interest,” Meg said, glancing back to Cas. Then she turned to pull at Dean’s coat again, adding, “Isn’t that so, my Lord?”

Dean managed to claw back enough of his faculties to murmur, "I'm game if you are, Cas." He tried for a smirk in Cas’ direction, hoping he didn’t look as out of his depth as he felt. 

Meg clapped, delighted, but Castiel merely stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“Help me, Castiel,” Meg says, her voice low. She pushed at Dean’s coat now, shoving it off his shoulders and helping him to discard it over the side of the laundry tub nearby. She pulled seductively at his cravat, making short work of loosening the knot and leaving it to hang around his neck, as he carefully kept his hands at his sides. He didn’t want to touch Meg until Cas was fully on board, here—she was his fiancée, after all, and he still wasn’t quite sure what exactly was happening.

Meg turned, huffing as she took in Cas’ stiff posture. She stepped back to him and took Cas’ hands carefully, pulling him close to Dean so that she could place his hands on him, one on each hip. Meg was considerably shorter than either of them, and when she’d brought them closer, Dean found himself staring right into Cas’ wide, blue eyes. Cas dropped his gaze quickly as Meg carefully moved one of his palms to the front of Dean’s trousers, rubbing over the bulge now straining against the fabric. 

Dean inhaled sharply, the pressure sending a thrill through him as he watched Cas close his eyes tightly, and his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. 

How long had Cas dreamed of this, like Dean had? It may have only been a few weeks for Dean, but he’d longed for Cas to touch him in just this way. As he exhaled unevenly, Meg murmured, “That’s the way,” and moved Cas’ hands up to Dean’s chest so she had access to the laces of Dean’s trousers. 

Dean studied the way Cas’ closed eyelashes lay upon his cheek, the crease in his forehead and the obvious tension across his shoulders. He longed to soothe his worries away, but still hadn’t been given permission to touch, so he’d play along. Meg must have caught his look, though, because she reached up to put her hand on Cas’ cheek, turning his face away from Dean and down towards her. 

Dean saw Cas’ eyes open in surprise, before Meg stood on her tip-toes to reach up and kiss him.

The _want_ flooded through Dean at that, and he let out a breathy “Oh.” How could she just freely take what he’d been longing to do for weeks, now? Her tongue licked into Cas’ mouth, and it seemed he was giving equally in return, even though his hands still rested on Dean’s chest. 

She pulled back, smiling as she gazed at him still, and he opened his eyes, still looking down into hers. Her voice was low as she said, “Now, kiss him.” She turned to look at Dean, and he was sure his heart skipped several beats as Cas slowly turned his head to regard him. He looked terrified, an expression Dean had never seen on his face, and didn’t care to leave there. 

“Dean, I—” he began, just as Dean said gruffly, “You heard her.” He leaned forwards, and their lips met, and the softness of Cas’ lips was all Dean knew for merely a few moments that felt like a lifetime. This...this was everything...and from the way Cas paused after their first lips’ brush, then came back for more, he was sure that Cas was also feeling this completeness, this spark between them that perhaps had always been there, but never ignited. Not like this.

A breathy moan from beside them startled them apart, and Dean looked down to see Meg flushed, her mouth parted. 

She noticed them looking at her, and she smiled coyly. “Do not stop on my account, gentlemen. Oh, on second thoughts, come here, it’s my turn.” She grabbed Dean by the shirt and pulled him down into a filthy kiss, all tongue and none of the tenderness he’d just shared with Cas. Nevertheless, it sent a fire racing through his limbs, and he gave it back to her. 

She grabbed one of his hands as they kissed, moving it to where hers disappeared under the layers of muslin of her skirt. She hummed against his mouth as his fingers found soft flesh and coarse hair. He rubbed experimentally at her mound and she pulled back from their kiss with a gasp.

“Undress him!” she reminded Cas, who was now breathing heavily as he stood in front of Dean.

Dean was aware of every movement Cas made as Dean continued kissing Meg and moving his fingers around and into her wet heat. Cas pulled the silk cravat away from Dean’s throat, laying it with his coat to one side. He fumbled with Dean’s waistcoat buttons and the laces of his shirt, then he forced him and Meg apart as he lifted Dean’s shirt over his head, exposing the corset beneath. 

Dean had completely forgotten about the corset—it pulled in his slightly soft stomach, as was the fashion of a lot of gentlemen of court—but it was hardly seemly for anyone except one’s valet to know that it was being worn. Then again, there was little seemly about this entire evening, so Dean owned his flushed face and took a deep breath. 

“What have we here, my lord?” Meg breathed. 

Dean turned his eyes to Cas, who was still bright red, but his eyes were dark and hungry as he took in Dean’s bare skin. He made no move to touch further, though Dean willed him to. He wanted Cas’ hands on him, wanted to kiss him again, but Cas merely looked, without meeting his eyes.

Meg reached forward, running her fingers lightly over the tight linen band, reinforced with thin boning, then traced her way down to the laces of his trousers, pulling the knot undone slowly. She lifted her hand to push at one of his shoulders. “Turn around, sir. Let Castiel at your back.”

Cas lifted his eyes to Dean’s briefly, and Dean smirked at him with all the heat he could muster before he turned his back, resting his arms against the edge of the empty tub now in front of him. He felt fingers run across his back, lightly across the skin above where the corset was fastened with thick-knotted laces, then more heavily around where the linen stretched around his side. 

"Oh no, sir," Meg breathed, and when Dean looked over his shoulder to see her lean up and whisper into Castiel's ear, her eyes on Dean's, "With your teeth."

A delighted shiver went through him as Cas also let out what sounded very much Iike a growl. Cas leaned forwards, placing a kiss on the back of Dean's neck, then another more open-mouthed, teeth on the meat of his shoulder. Dean shuddered again as he felt Cas' tongue sweep across where he'd bitten, moving along to suck at Dean's skin. He worked his way down, sucking and then licking at his skin, sending delightful goose-flesh down his limbs. 

A movement in front of him drew his eye—Meg had moved to lean back against the tub, watching Cas’ movements at Dean’s back, then her eyes moved to Dean’s to take in his reactions. Dean was sure he must look wrecked already—his heart was thundering in his chest, a trickle of sweat ran down his temple. 

Cas took his mouth away from Dean’s back. Dean missed the warm breath ghosting over his skin immediately, but Meg’ eyes were drawn to what Cas was doing behind Dean. As he felt a pulling sensation, Meg drew in a breath and said, “Shall I describe what he’s doing, m’lord? He has taken the laces of your corset in his teeth, and is undoing the knot there.” Dean groaned as he felt the tightness around his middle easing, and he was finally able to draw a full breath for the first time all evening. 

Meg leaned into Dean’s space and kissed him again, just as Cas unwrapped the linen from his middle and let it fall to the floor, running his hands over the skin of his back. Dean would much rather be kissing Cas at the moment, but he had to admit, Meg was an excellent kisser. He reached down to lift her skirts again, brushing his fingers lightly over her bundle of nerves there, and she gasped. Dean gave a matching gasp as Cas slid the trousers off his hips, allowing his aching cock free and exposing his buttocks to Cas. 

Cas didn’t touch him right away, though. Meg threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him like a woman possessed as he massaged her sex once again, slipping two fingers into her wet heat. Only then, when Meg was gasping into his mouth as he pushed his fingers into her, did Cas step forward and press his now bare skin into Dean’s back. His arms threaded their way around Dean’s middle, pulling him back, flush with his own body, and Dean moaned again as he felt Cas’ hard cock pressing against the cleft of his ass. 

Suddenly feeling flames racing along his veins, he pushed back, rubbing his ass into Cas to tell him what he wanted him to do, but Meg spoke up first. “Would you like to fuck him, my sweet Castiel?” 

Castiel rumbled out a hum as he kissed Dean’s shoulder once again. “Very much so,” he said, his voice more gruff than Dean had ever heard it.

A thrill of anticipation rushed through him—it would not be the first time he'd been with a man, but he had not wanted to guess Castiel’s preference based on one kiss by the river. 

Meg studied Dean's face as Cas spoke, and she seemed surprised by what she found there. "You don't mind the idea, m'lord?" 

Dean shook his head as he leaned in to kiss the soft skin below her jaw, his fingers still working in and out of her. 

She sighed, shuddering lightly. "Ohhh...me first.” 

Dean tried to make sense of her words as Cas moved against his back. “You want Cas to fuck you first?”

“No, sweetheart, I am going to ride _you_ first. If you agree.” 

She grabbed his cock in one hand and pumped his length a few times, making him mutter, “F-fuck, yes.” 

Pushing him back until he and Cas stumbled a few steps, Cas stepped aside and watched as Meg pointed behind Dean to a large pile of dirty linens, presumably waiting to be laundered tomorrow morning. “Lie down,” she commanded, and who was Dean to disobey? He slipped off his pumps to disentangle his feet from his trousers, but didn’t get a chance to remove his stockings before he was pushed down into the linens, his bare back hitting the pile. He tried to prop himself up a little with the sheets behind his shoulders—it wasn’t quite as soft as it had looked in the dim light, but it was better than lying on the cold stones, that was for certain. 

Meg turned to Cas, murmuring, “Come on, sweet boy.” She pulled him in for a lingering kiss, while Dean lay there, staring up at the pair of them. Meg was still wearing her gown and the layers underneath, the frills around her skirts rucked up where she held them in one hand. Her curls were loose about her face in wild disarray, but that was nothing to how disheveled Cas’ normally carefully coiffed hair looked now. He was still wearing his linen shirt, although it was unlaced and open at the neck. His trousers were missing, though, and Dean could see the head of his thick cock in the candlelight. His mouth watered at the idea of finally getting his hands on Cas—he'd dreamed of this for so long, but this was nothing like any of his wildest fantasies. 

Dean’s own cock was rock hard—he’d never been part of such an enticing group, and he reached down to take himself in hand, but Meg saw him move, dropped herself down to straddle him, lined herself up and sank down on him, burying him inside her smoothly. She clenched down on him, throwing her head back to let out a cry, but Cas clapped his large hand over her mouth, putting his face next to her ear to say, “Quiet, remember?”

She pouted. “I don’t want to be quiet—ah!" She gasped as Dean lifted his hips a little to get comfortable, and she started a gentle rocking back and forth, even as she grabbed Cas’ cock and brought it to her mouth, licking around his head and trying to suck him down. “Angle’s wrong,” she gasped, pumping her fist along Cas’ length instead. “Go fuck his mouth instead.” 

Dean had been ogling the sight of Meg's tongue licking at Cas' impressive length, but now he gave a small choke. Cas' gaze flicked down to him, and Dean moaned a little at the hungry look in the man's eyes, barely visible in the dim lantern light. 

"Dean?" he asked roughly, even as Meg picked up her pace, rocking her hips to ride him. 

"G-get down here, Cas," Dean gasped out, moving his hand from Meg's right hip to try to drag him down by the end of his shirt tail. 

Cas' face hovered above, looking down at him with concern. 

The poor man looked so worried that even through his half-drunk haze, Dean realised he needed to reassure Cas that he wanted this. 

Dean grinned up at Cas, knowing he must present quite a picture. He winked at his old friend, saying quietly, "You want to kiss me, Cas?" 

Cas dropped to his knees willingly, then, and bent to press his mouth to Dean's with such urgency that Dean nearly bit his own tongue in the process. Cas tangled his hand in Dean's hair and pulled, even as he licked into Dean's mouth. 

It was all the passion and fire Dean remembered from all those years ago, and at the same time, nothing like it. This was desperation, it was longing, it was all the times Dean wished he'd said or written something sooner to let his friend know how much he was loved. 

Meg gasped from behind Cas as Dean bucked his hips up involuntarily, and Cas pulled back with a start. 

"Come on, Cas. Give me that cock of yours," Dean muttered, watching Cas take himself in hand and stoke a few times. 

"You want it?" Cas growled, his eyes wild and his voice like gravel. 

Dean groaned again at the almost overwhelming sensation of Meg's movements on his cock, but he nodded his head to Cas as he drank in the way Cas grabbed his shoulder to pull him upright a little, shoving more linens behind his back. Pushing Dean back down, he threw a leg over Dean's chest, straddling him and giving Dean an impressive faceful of cock. He could no longer see Meg, but he could hear her, small gasps that she seemed to be trying to muffle. 

Dean wasted no time, opening his mouth and leaning forward to take Cas' whole leaking head onto his tongue. He closed his lips around Cas' shaft, but he couldn't move in the position he was in. As Cas made one of the most arousing and utterly filthy sounds Dean had ever heard him make, Dean grabbed both of Cas' hips with his hands and pulled, encouraging him to thrust forward. Cas jolted forward into Dean's throat, and through the sudden tears the intrusion brought forth, he kept pulling Cas forward. 

Dean had sucked one or two cocks since that time Cas had kissed him, but it only ever happened when he was either much more drunk, or so smoked out of his senses that he wasn't aware of what was happening until well after the fact. This time, he was wholly aware, and the fact that Cas was here, around him, inside him, filling his senses, not to mention whatever Meg was doing back there behind him? It was completely overwhelming. He gave up trying to make sense of it and just let Cas fuck his mouth, slowly at first, but with increasing urgency. When he did open his eyes to look up at Cas in the gloom, he saw his friend had his eyes closed, head thrown back and breathing hard.

It was the single most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. 

But Cas stopped, his hips jerking forward into Dean’s throat with a start. He was looking up and around, a desperate kind of panic on his face. 

Meg did not stop moving, moving back and forth, up and down on his cock with small gasping breaths. 

Dean heard a voice, then: "Castiel? Is that you?" 

"Gabriel?" Cas pulled back out of Dean's mouth, scrambling off his chest and getting to his knees again beside Dean. "Do not come in here!" he called urgently, grabbing a linen underskirt of some kind and throwing it over Dean's face and top half. He bit his lip hard to stop himself from crying out as Meg continued to fuck him, her movements small but grinding. Damn it all, she must be so close to climax, and Dean was not far behind. She let out an audible gasp, and Dean heard a hand slap over her mouth again. 

"Miss Meg? Lud, Castiel, can you not keep your pants on for a few hours to make pleasant conversation with your guests? Hurry back out, please, father is looking for you!" Gabriel sounded more amused than angry. 

Dean couldn’t see what was going on above him, but he admired Castiel’s relative calm under pressure. "I'm sorry, brother. Please cover for us! We'll return presently."

"Are you sure you don’t want a little extra company, there?” Gabriel asked.

Dean heard him clatter backwards into something as Castiel actually growled at him, “Gabriel!” 

Gabriel hurried to agree, but chuckled as his voice got fainter. “Very well then, but you _owe_ me for this, Castiel." 

Footsteps retreated, and Meg gasped again, clenching tightly around Dean. "Oh! Oh!" she cried as she collapsed down on Dean's chest, but she was pulled up again presently and the linen pulled back from Dean's face. 

Cas was back on Dean in a moment, his mouth firmly capturing Dean's in a bruising kiss, his hand on his own member. Meg moved off Dean, the cool air on his cock making him gasp into Cas' mouth, and he took himself in hand. It only took a few hurried strokes, gazing up at the wrecked, almost pained look on Cas face before he gave a strangled cry, coming in spurts over his own stomach. Cas' big hand flew over his own cock, before he, too, painted Dean's skin in sticky white. 

The three of them sat still for a few moments, regaining their breath, each sharing glances. 

Eventually Dean choked out, "Gabriel…?" and he and Meg burst out in laughter. Cas merely rolled his eyes, murmuring, "I will never hear the end of this," before he leaned back down to kiss Dean gently. 

Dean felt as though he might float away. He smiled at Cas as he sat back up, grabbing the linen underskirt to clean up the mess on Dean's stomach. 

"My thanks for the ride, m'lord," Meg said, grinning lopsidedly as she got to her feet, pulling her skirts back into some kind of order.

As Cas started to stand as well, following her lead, Dean grabbed at his hand to try to keep him by his side. "Wait, Cas, will you just leave me here—?" 

"Hush," Cas interrupted him, "Gabriel did not see you and it would be best if you were not discovered. Meg and I will rejoin the party, then you should follow after a time."

Dean let him stand, watching as Cas pulled up his trousers and tied them. He wiped at the sticky mess on himself, then sorted out his own trousers.

"You're right, Dean, we should talk," Cas said, his voice husky but back in a more measured tone. Dean couldn’t understand how he could be so composed again so quickly.

Cas turned to help Meg refasten the ties at the back of her gown, and suddenly she was back to the picture of elegance, with perhaps a slightly more artful disarray about her curls. Cas' hair was a disaster, though, and Meg made an attempt to flatten it before Cas dropped back to his knees by Dean to place one more kiss on his mouth. 

Dean whispered, “I missed you, Cas.”

“Stop,” Cas murmured, grabbing Dean’s hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. “Dean, I—” 

“Wait,” Meg interrupted, looking towards the laundry door. “We need to go. Dean, stay until the end of the ball. You can have your heart to heart then, yes?” She held out Cas’ tailcoat, and he scrambled to his feet, still holding Dean’s hand as he gazed down for another moment before he shrugged into the coat. 

Before they turned to leave, Cas gave Dean a funny little bow, and Dean couldn’t help but grin at the sudden appearance of the gentleman again. He lay back on the linens again for a moment, listening until Cas and Meg had left the room, then located his shirt to get himself redressed. 

His heart was brimming with something; hope, perhaps, or just the remaining buzz from his orgasm. He considered what had just occurred as he laced his shirt and pulled on his waistcoat. What had Cas been about to tell him? Was this a one-off thing, or could they somehow...somehow have this in the future? Meg had certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, and Dean was no stranger to sharing his bed with more than one other, but he had to admit that he didn’t actually know Meg, had barely said two words to her before she was undressing him and jumping onto his cock. What a turn of events.

But Cas…he’d looked so beautiful in the throes of passion! If Dean never got to see that again, the rest of his life would be dull and desolate. 

Still, there was hope for later that night, he reminded himself as he replaced his pumps, standing to fetch his coat. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean danced, holding the hand of Miss Eliza Braeden, although he barely saw her. His attention was entirely focused on the couple two places up in the set: Castiel and Miss Alexandra Jones. Cas’ hair was still in disarray, and Dean loved it. He also loved how every time their eyes met, it was like being struck by lightning. And their eyes did meet, over and over—in fact Dean found he could not take his eyes off his friend for the entirety of several maddening hours that Cas and Meg danced, ate, and spoke at length with the guests of their ball. 

Dean kept out of their way, for the most part. He danced and did his social duties, but he did not linger with Miss Eliza, nor did he drink much more, wanting to have his wits about him for whatever Cas had to tell him. He drove himself near mad with what-ifs and possible scenarios, and he nearly quit the ball altogether when he saw Cas making moon-eyes at Meg at one point, smiling at her the way he used to smile at Dean when they were younger. He stayed, though—he could not leave and let whatever he had just shared with Cas and Meg be swept under the carpet, even if it would be easier for all of them if he did so.

Finally, the guests began to leave, and Dean joined Sam and Eileen as they lined up to bid the couple of honor their farewell. They all bowed as Sam, Eileen and Dean reached the front of the line, Sam thanking Cas for a pleasant evening. 

“A very pleasant evening, indeed,” Dean echoed, raising his eyebrows at Cas, then took his turn to kiss Meg’s hand. 

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel said, reaching out to grip Dean’s shoulder gently and sending a shock through him. “Would you be so kind as to wait a few moments just nearby here? I have something I wish to share with you.”

“Of course,” Dean murmured, stepping towards the doors with Sam and Eileen.

“What is it?” Sam asked, Eileen echoing his wide-eyed curiosity.

“Uh, just...we, uh...we spoke.” Dean glanced back at Cas over his shoulder, to see the man looking back in his direction. He could feel his face warming as he turned back, and Eileen nodded knowingly. Her hands flew in signs that Dean couldn’t quite catch, even though he’d been learning, but he glanced up at Sam as his brother actually laughed. “I did not catch that.”

“She says you have both finally pulled your heads free from your arses,” Sam chuckled lowly as Dean flushed further, his face burning. “I am glad to hear that. We shall see you at home, Dean.” 

Dean nodded. “Get on with you,” he said gruffly, glad that Sam wasn’t going to push the issue any further. 

He waited awkwardly by the ballroom doors until a footman came to lead him away, towards the large window overlooking the drive. A heated cup of chocolate was pressed into his hand, and when he sipped it, he could taste a warming hint of spice about it—just the way he liked it. He glanced back towards Cas, wondering if his friend could have possibly remembered something so small after all this time. Cas glanced nervously in his direction, letting their eyes catch for just a moment, before turning back to the guests still waiting nearby. 

Dean turned to look down at the front drive, at the carriages pulling in and away with their tired passengers. A sudden rush of nerves hit him—what could Cas possibly have to tell him? The man was so enigmatic, he could be pleased at the outcome of their evening, or furious with Dean—he had little idea. What they'd shared earlier had been better than anything Dean had dreamed of, but Cas and Meg would be married soon. He should prepare himself for disappointment. 

He glanced back towards the ballroom doors as the sound of the last of the guests faded. Cas and Meg were conferring quietly, their faces close. Meg leaned up to kiss Cas' cheek, and Dean caught an involuntary breath. She turned a smile towards Dean before she clutched her shawl around her shoulders and left the room. 

Cas turned to Dean and began making his way across the now-scuffed chalk on the dance floor. His expression was guarded, and Dean could see the apprehension in his frame, felt it mirrored in himself. 

“Thank you for waiting, Dean,” Cas said as he approached.

Dean inclined his head, his own nerves keeping his feet rooted to the floor. “You wanted to speak with me?” 

“I did—I do. Come, we can withdraw to the library.” Cas gestured along the length of the ballroom, and Dean fell into step beside him, watching as the servants began the long process of clearing the evening’s debris.

Cas didn’t say anything further until they had reached the doors at the end of the ballroom, and crossed the smaller drawing room on the other side. Beyond another set of doors was Shurley House’s library—a grand room lined with shelves full of orderly, leather-bound tomes on one wall, while the other wall contained mismatched volumes that drew the eye. A small pianoforte stood at one end of the room, while armchairs were arranged around a recently stoked fireplace. 

Cas crossed to a sideboard and began pouring something into glasses, while Dean stepped nearer to the fireplace, staring into the flames to try to center himself.

“Dean, I need to tell you something.”

When Dean turned, Cas was still standing at the sideboard, his head bowed. He turned, then crossed the room to join Dean, holding out a fine crystal glass containing a few fingers of some amber liquid. Dean took the glass and inhaled—brandy, if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d need more than this to settle his nerves if Cas didn’t hurry up and speak his mind. 

“What is it, Cas?” he asked, hiding his nerves by lifting the glass to his mouth. The brandy slid down his throat, warming him even further than the flames.

Castiel took a breath, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Meg and I… Please accept my apologies for what happened earlier—my fiancée has a unique skill with convincing others to do things they might not normally do.”

Dean wasn’t sure he had expected an apology, but he was quick to reply. “No need to apologize, Cas. I enjoyed it.”

“As did I.” Cas’ expression wavered for a few moments, and Dean glimpsed Cas’ frown before he continued firmly. “That is why, if you view what happened tonight as merely one of your conquests, I must ask you to please never mention it to another living soul, and kindly do not speak to me or Miss Masters ever again.”

Dean nearly dropped the crystal from his hand along with his jaw. Cas thought their time together tonight was just another meaningless fling? The confusion he'd been carrying with him for the last few hours evaporated into the firelit air. 

"No, it was not." Dean stepped forward into Cas' space, watching as he inhaled sharply. This was risky, but he needed to make sure Cas knew of his feelings. No matter the outcome. 

He let his eyes drift from Cas' lips up to his eyes, deliberately letting his own tongue wet his lips in a movement that Cas' own eyes tracked. "Cas, why did you not tell me?" he asked, barely above a whisper. 

“Tell you…?” Cas squinted at him, his head tilted.

“After that day, you did not tell me why you were leaving, you just...left.”

Cas' eyes widened now, and he stepped back from Dean, looking towards the fire. "I...I ran away."

"You ran away?" Dean asked, staying still and hoping Cas would elaborate. 

Cas flicked his gaze up to Dean, before he turned and paced away a few more steps. "Yes. I'm not proud of it, but I had to get away. From all of this, from this life, from…from you." He turned then, looking back at Dean. "That day…the day by the river?" he huffed out a humourless laugh. "It seems so long ago now, but every moment is etched into my memory."

Dean could barely breathe—if he moved, his heart may escape his chest. 

Castiel steps back towards him, his expression anguished. "I have loved you for years, longer than I should have. I tried not to, I did, but that day…I had to know. And it was so good, Dean. It was everything I had dreamed of, and everything I could never have." He took a shuddering breath in, then released it. “So I ran.” 

Dean let out a ragged breath of his own. How could he have been so stupid? He managed to ask, "Why did you never tell me?"

Castiel held his hands out and shrugged. “You liked women. And absolutely not your awkward friend who happened to be in love with you.”

Dean caught his breath again. _In love with you_ … The words echoed in his mind, in his body…in his heart. He could scarcely believe how badly they had misconstrued each other, and for so long. 

Castiel continued, his gaze towards the fireplace. “I thought I was over you, that I’d moved past my childish feelings, but…I returned and you were still the same. Even more beautiful than I remembered, and yet still, you…you preferred the company of loose women.”

Dean put his glass on a side table next to an armchair nearby and stepped towards Cas, reaching out to take his hand. “Cas…” he murmured, tilting his head down to catch Cas’s eyes before he continued. “That day...that kiss? It opened my eyes to so many things. But then you left, and I didn’t know what to do.” He took a breath again, the pain of these words scraping raw in his throat. “Now I know, after tonight...the last eight years I’ve been marking time. Because nothing can compare to how I felt—how I _feel_ —for you.”

Cas made a choked sound and pulled on Dean’s hand, so that Dean rocked forward and met Cas’ lips with his own. Dean brought his free hand up to Cas’ cheek, holding him gently as they kissed, his heart once again doing its best to explode within him. 

When they finally separated, Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’ as they each caught their breath. 

Cas murmured, “When you walked in tonight, in this finery,”—he ran his fingers down the fine brocade of Dean’s waistcoat—”I’m sure you saw how you affect me.”

“I thought you were unhappy to see me, in honesty,” Dean chuckled. “I’ve never been so glad to be wrong.” 

Cas’ smile was small, but its warmth lit Dean’s mind up like sunlight. “Dean...despite every effort to erase you from my mind, I have never stopped loving you.”

Dean kissed him again, long and deeply, running his fingers through Cas’ hair and relishing the hard press of Cas’ body against his own. If this continued, they may well have another repeat of earlier in the evening. The thought struck Dean hard enough that he pulled back, even with the desire now burning low in his core. 

“But what now? What about...Miss Masters? The wedding…?”

Castiel smiled again, somewhat sadly this time. He deposited his own glass on the nearest surface before answering, obviously stalling. “I understand if this is hard to hear, Dean. I apologize in advance, but...the marriage must still go ahead.” He grimaced, finally looking back to Dean as he continued in a rush. “I hoped that my mother’s scheming to find me a wife would end when I went abroad, but she continued to press me to find a suitor. Meg is a dear friend—I do love her, and she loves me in return, but our relationship is an unusual one.”

“I have to agree, from what I’ve seen tonight,” Dean said, a wry smile finding its way to his face. 

“Indeed. Meg…is not attracted to people in romantic ways. She enjoys, um, what we did earlier, and has...unusual appetites, and she has helped me through difficult times. She has no interest in marrying for love, but she has ambitions to study back here in London. So an alliance between us suited both our situations.”

“Study? Was she not doing so in Paris?” Dean turned to pick up his drink once more, sipping at it as Castiel continued.

“She studies medicine—the human body. Such academic interests are not for women, even in France. With my fortune to support her, she may pursue her interests in private.” Cas huffed out a frustrated breath. "I agreed to this, believing that after a few failed attempts at relationships, I would never find anyone who might replace you in my affections." 

Dean’s heart leapt within his chest, but he merely nodded thoughtfully, his heart breaking for this friend along with its joy at this revelation. Before he could reply, Cas continued. 

“If you find such an arrangement distasteful, by all means, leave us, and I am sorry to cause hurt. I cannot let her down now. But know that Meg has told me that you would be welcome to, uh...join us, should the opportunity arise again.”

Dean gazed at him, taking this information in. Here Castiel was, offering him his heart, even now. They could be together, Dean could really have this—his heart gave another dangerous lurch within the confines of his chest.

But could Dean do it? Watch the man he loved get married to another, knowing he would only ever be with him in the shadows? He wanted to be able to shout his devotion from the rooftops, to dance with him at gatherings and kiss him in front of all the ton. Could he give all that up, to keep their love secret? 

And perhaps more to the point, was he willing to share Cas with another? Meg seemed pleasant enough, and clearly Cas found her good company. Perhaps he could even come to love her himself, in time. 

Was he willing to try all that, for Cas' sake? 

The answer was, of course, that he had no choice. Homosexuality was against the law, and likely always would be. If he and Cas wanted to be together, this was the ideal situation—a marriage to keep up appearances and benefit both Cas and Meg, and as his old friend, Dean had a cover to spend time with them. He found a warmth floating through him, of a future with companionship, with love. 

Dean shrugged, trying not to let a broad smile take over his face. “Of course, I do not know Miss Masters at all, so I cannot speak for her company other than...tonight,” he said, then stepped closer to Cas once again, adding, “but I would very much like to try that again with you, Cas.” 

Cas' smile this time would light the whole city if they were outdoors, but he focused it entirely on Dean as he put one hand behind Dean's neck and pulled him in for another heated kiss. This time, Dean wasn't letting go so quickly. He gripped Castiel, a hand on each hip, and pressed their bodies together, making sure that Cas was aware of just how invested he was in continuing this. 

"Come, m'lord," Castiel murmured, his mouth upturned at one corner. He took Dean's hand and led him across the room. Together, they stole through dark corridors they'd once run through as boys, up the silent stairs and to Castiel’s old room. As Cas closed the door behind them, Dean looked around the now-unfamiliar space, tastefully redecorated in blue and green. The low firelight revealed a sitting area near the fireplace, and a large four-poster bed on the opposite wall. 

"I expected Meg to be here," Dean commented, as Cas came back to him, applying a line of kisses to his neck as he pushed Dean's tailcoat off his shoulders.

Cas pulled back, giving Dean an admonishing look. "We are not married yet, Dean. Her apartments are along the hall. Would you like me to fetch her? I thought you—" 

"No!" Dean replied, perhaps a little quickly than he intended to. "No, I'd like you all to myself tonight," he amended, leaning down to capture Cas' smiling lips with his own. 

He deposited his coat and cravat over the back of one of the settees near the fireplace, and removed his pumps and stockings, his feet cold on the wooden floorboards. He pulled Cas closer to the fire where a rug lay on the floor, and helped him undo the buttons of his waistcoat, trading kisses as they went. 

Under his own shirt, Dean’s corset had been only hastily re-tied, so he deposited that easily with his other clothes, glad that he'd thought to wipe himself off thoroughly and his skin wasn't a crusted mess. When they were both down to their trousers, Dean chuckled. 

At Cas' questioning look, Dean said, "You have no idea how long I have dreamt of this, Cas."

Cas' rough voice left no doubt as to his state of arousal as he unlaced his trousers once again. "I do have some idea, actually. Those times we shared a bed, long ago, were torture, I assure you.”

“Allow me to torture you some more, my lord,” Dean said, dropping his own trousers to the floor and stepping closer to Cas to help him remove his. 

Dean's cock may have been only partially on board during the time it took to get up here and undress, but as more of Cas' smooth skin was revealed, he had to press a hand to himself for a little friction. 

They stood for a few moments, taking each other in, before Dean stepped forward and pressed their hips together, rutting against Cas as he licked into his mouth. They both moaned as they rubbed together, before Cas reached down to grip both of them in his fist. He stroked roughly a few times, before Dean gasped into his ear, almost boneless with the pleasure of it already, “Cas, I want you to fuck me.”

Castiel stilled his hand, pulling back from Dean to look him in the eye. “Are you sure, Dean? We do not have to—”

“Please, Cas,” he interrupted, adding his fist to Castiel’s and moving it up and down once again. “I need you,” he gasped out.

Castiel released his hand, instead gripping Dean by the hips and walking him backward, their mouths pressed together once again, until the back of Dean’s legs hit the edge of the bed. He perched on the end of the mattress, and Castiel stayed there for a few moments as Dean reached up to grip Cas’ cock. He was rock hard, glistening at the tip, and Dean leaned down to lick at him, making Cas gasp and buck backwards. 

“No, let me…let me take care of you, Dean,” Cas gasped, pushing Dean back with a hand to his shoulder. 

Dean lay back on the soft bedding, shuffling himself up the bed while Castiel opened one of the drawers in his dresser and brought something over with him—a small glass container of the oil used for lubrication, Dean guessed. 

“How very prepared of you, Castiel,” Dean remarked with a grin.

Castiel ducked his head, somewhat bashfully. “I usually use it for myself—I never expected to be using it on anyone else again.” He wrapped a now-oily hand around the base of Dean’s cock, but instead of sliding up and down, he leaned over and took Dean’s entire length into his mouth, bumping at the back of his throat and making Dean shout in surprise. Dean gripped the bedclothes in his fists as Castiel got to work, moving up and down on Dean and sending the most wonderful sensations through him. 

When Castiel’s oily fingers stroked over Dean’s hole, he moaned lowly. This is what he’d been waiting for. The few times he’d done this—once at a molly house, and another time very quietly in a certain other gentleman’s chambers after a card party—had been pleasurable, so he was sure he’d enjoy it, but something about being this intimate with _Cas_ , his oldest and once-dearest friend,was special on every level.

Castiel pressed his finger inside, laden with more oil, even as he sucked Dean down mercilessly. He hummed his enjoyment, which made Dean voice his own once more. 

“Come on, Cas, give it to me. I want that big cock of yours inside of me…” he rambled, and Castiel groaned, shifting on the bed to climb up over Dean. He dropped his face to lick a rough tongue over Dean’s chest, over his left nipple and up over the hair to nip at his collarbone. Dean couldn’t wait any longer, sinking his hand into Castiel’s hair and dragging him up to crush their mouths together. “I need you,” he panted again, against Castiel’s mouth.

“Very well.” Castiel sat back upright between Dean’s thighs, pouring more oil into his hand to rub along his own cock, gasping his way through it. Then he pushed Dean’s knees aside further and lined up, pushing his head just past Dean’s rim. The tight, slightly painful sensation overwhelmed Dean for a moment, and he closed his eyes, only to feel Castiel’s mouth on his own once more. Castiel stroked Dean’s face, not moving his hips for a few moments, and when Dean opened his eyes, all he saw was Cas’ loving expression gazing down at him.

“Are you well, Dean?” Cas asked, his voice low and rough as gravel.

Dean nodded quickly, marvelling at how tender Cas had grown. The slide and drag as Cas pushed forward was intense, but exquisite, and as Cas began to move a little faster, Dean buried his face between Cas’ shoulder and neck and held onto whatever he could reach. 

When Cas sat up straight and pulled Dean’s leg up a little higher, the change in angle made his next thrust explode inside Dean, like falling stars behind his eyes. He muttered, “Give it to me, Cas, please,” and Castiel complied, his movements faster and more forceful. When he grabbed Dean’s cock with his oiled hand and started stroking in time with his thrusts, it only took a few moments for Dean to crest over the edge of his wave and come in thick, hot spurts all over his own chest. Cas made a punched-out sound that Dean had never heard him utter, before his rhythm faltered and he drove hard into Dean with one more thrust. His head dropped to Dean’s shoulder, and Dean held him close, his mind spinning with bliss. 

As Castiel pulled out and flopped to Dean’s side, breathing heavily, Dean’s head was still spinning with stars. Castiel dropped an arm over him, only to lift it again with a start. “Ugh, stay there. I shall fetch something to clean up with,” he muttered, rolling in the other direction. A moment later he was back, gently sponging the mess from Dean’s body with a damp cloth. 

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean murmured. He shuffled around as Cas fussed some more, pulling down the blankets, and then sighed as Castiel cuddled back into his side, drawing the bedclothes over them both. 

“Promise you won’t leave me again, Cas?” Dean asked, on the edge of sleep. 

“I think you’ve persuaded me of that, Dean,” Cas murmured, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

**The End**

And finally, a bonus artwork from the wonderful Sissyray:

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I'd recommend checking out the other fics in the SPNRBB collection.
> 
> Would you mind sharing this story with others? You can find a [tweet here](https://twitter.com/Ellen_of_Oz/status/1308210429236142080?s=19), and a [tumblr post here](https://ellen-of-oz.tumblr.com/post/629906327938924544/spnregencybb-title-the-gentle-art-of).
> 
> Lastly, if you love Destiel fanfiction, you should definitely check out the new podcast I'm putting together with MalMuses - [Mixtape Book Club Podcast](http://mixtapebookclub.com). We're chatting about various tropes in fic and recommending a whole load of stories to listeners. Come join us!


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